Sherlock's Dilemma
by TheImpossibleGirl11
Summary: John is disgusted when he reads Mary's file and disowns her. Johnlock ensues. High T for swearing. Beta-ed by Wingdings
1. Chapter 1: Mary

**A/N: John, Sherlock, and Mary all belong to the BBC. This story belongs to me :)**

"That absolute BITCH!" John shouted.

He couldn't believe everything Mary had done. She'd lied to him, and he'd accepted that. He thought that his love for her was forever. But as he viewed the information, it all slowly evaporated.

Sherlock, across the room, cracked an eye open.

"John, I understand that this information must be hard for your tiny little brain to process, but I am trying to _think_." He went back to focusing on the nicotine spreading through his veins from the three patches on his arms.

Despite the slight, John ignored Sherlock's remark.

He pulled out his phone and sent Mary a text.

_Lose my number._

It was cruel, but that was what he needed at the moment. Well, almost.

_Please._

He glanced at the couch where Sherlock lay on his back.

Mrs. Hudson bustled in, carrying a tea tray.

"Read the file, dear? I'm so sorry. I heard the commotion, and thought you'd like some tea. And Mary seemed like such a nice girl. You know, at one po–"

Sherlock opened his eyes and fumed at the ceiling.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you _please_ shut up. I'm working on a case."

"Oh! Sorry dear, didn't see the patches..." She hurried out.

John turned back to his computer, fuming. He ejected the thumb drive and pulled it out. Disgusted, he threw it on the floor and crushed it under his heel.

"Excellent, John, get all the anger out." said Sherlock sarcastically, "Now for the love of God, _be quiet!_"

John got up and walked out of the flat. And to think Mary was pregnant! Well, she could keep the child. He wanted no reminder of her in his life.

He opened the door out on to Baker Street and turned right, no idea where he was going.

As he walked, he thought. As he thought, his anger grew. How could she possibly live with herself, lying like that? He could almost forgive her about her past. After all, she wanted to change, for him. But clearly she hadn't changed enough because she lied to him about such important things!

He passed by a little coffee shop where he and Mary had shared many a coffee when they had courted. He glanced in. He saw a young couple, chatting happily over a cup of coffee. And just like that, his anger subsided. By the time he got to the park, he could hardly walk. He collapsed on a bench with his face in his hands, which were soon wet with tears. His whole body shook violently, and his breath came in short gasps. How could she betray him like that? He thought they had something! And they did, but he knew he could never forgive her lying like that.

His head buried in his hands, John peeked out between his fingers. A few pigeons had stopped in front of him, pecking at the remains of a bagel lying on the path. A few seconds later, he felt a presence come sit beside him.

"Funny little birds. Their brains are even smaller than poor Anderson's."

"Sherlock," John said, sighing, "Now is _not_ the time. Please– just leave me alone."

"There, there, John," Sherlock said, awkwardly patting his back, "You know that now is a time when you need– er, friends most."

"I do, but you're not the best at being a friend."

"I know." said Sherlock, his hand settling stiffly on John's back.

Later that night, lying in bed, John was questioning Sherlock's actions. Normally, he wouldn't even try to comfort John, especially if he were thinking about a case. As a sociopath (even a high-functioning one), he didn't really know how to go about being kind to someone, and he normally wouldn't put in the effort. Was he starting to care? Was this some bizarre form of research?

John's dreams that night were plagued with Mary's face, jeering, and somewhere in the background Sherlock was saying "There, there, John."


	2. Chapter 2: Bacon

John woke up to the smell of something burning.

"Dammit!" Sherlock yelled in the kitchen.

Amused, John made his way out of his room.

Sherlock looked up from the stove, a harried look on his face.

"I was just trying to cook some bacon!"

Sure enough, there was some smoking charcoal sitting in the sink. John laughed.

"So you can cook an eyeball but not bacon?"

Sherlock glared at him.

"Oh, come on. Why were you making bacon, anyways?"

"I was, er, well I thought– you know, it's just... You're going through a tough time and Ithoughtyoumightlikesomebacon." Sherlock blurted out, flustered.

"Because bacon fixes everything?"

Sherlock nodded mutely.

"Thank you, but I can handle the bacon from now on. Or at least teach you how to do it properly." John said, laughing a little.

Once eaten their bacon and dressed, Sherlock immediately headed out to work on the case. John settled down with a book and tried not to think about Mary.

**Sherlock POV**

He knew it wasn't right. John was still deep in the throes of a ruined marriage. But Sherlock couldn't resist trying to charm him a little.

It wasn't working.

His attempt at friendship was pushed away, and no doubt confused John. After all, since when had he been caring?

The bacon was nothing short of disastrous. The best he could hope was future cooking lessons.

Sherlock didn't know who to go to. The one person he would go to about his feelings was the one the feelings were about. So he had to choose the next best, who was also simultaneously the worst. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Hello, Detective Inspector Lestrade speaking."

"Hello."

"What is it this time, Sherlock?"

"Well, actually... I was, er, hoping for some help." Sherlock hated being flustered. But it was happening more and more lately.

"_Help?_ With what?"

"Oh, don't go getting pleased with yourself, George–"

"It's GREG!"

"This is out of my usual repertoire."

"So what is it, then?

"Well... it's romantic."

"_Really?_ So who's the lucky girl? Have you finally wised up to Molly?"

"What? No, it isn't Molly. What do you mean by 'wised up'?"

Greg sighed. "Never mind. Who is it?"

"None of your business."

"Fine. What do you need help with?"

"Ideas?"

"Take her out to coffee. Take her to a movie. Take her to dinner. Come on, Sherlock, I know you aren't stupid!"

"It's difficult, though! They're a friend."

"Roses, then!"

"But what if they don't... feel the same?"

"I'm sure you'll figure it out somehow.

_Beep._

"Useless idiot." Sherlock muttered as he hurried off.

**John POV**

The next morning, John woke up to an unusual surprise. There, lying on the counter, were roses.

"Sherlock?"

"Mrs. Hudson delivered them this morning when she brought the tea." Called Sherlock from the couch, where he was on his phone.

He went over and picked them up. Surely Mary wasn't trying to atone? Nothing she could do could make him happy with her.

He saw there was a note attached.

_To John_

_From a Secret Admirer_

Simple. Like John liked it. He flipped the card over, wondering if there was more. There wasn't.

He wondered who it was. Was it that girl on the tram he had seen the other day? He was sure she winked at him. But how would she know his name, let alone address? Or maybe it was the street performer who had been looking right at him as she played her flute? Perhaps she had seen him entering the flat. But she still wouldn't know his name...


	3. Chapter 3: The Secret Admirer

**Sherlock POV**

John responded well to the roses. Sherlock thought it was a bit over the top, but he seemed to like them. The only issue was that he never once considered that it might be a man who sent them. That did not bode well. Did he even have any interest in men?

Sherlock spent a lot of time that day, pacing and looking at options, many were swiftly dismissed from his brain, until he came across one he liked. Alcohol. Alcohol is not the type of gift a woman would give. He would have to get John a nice bottle of scotch whiskey.

On to the next problem: John wouldn't fall in love with a person through gifts. He pulled out his phone and texted Mycroft.

I need a phone for a case. Double murder -SH

After a few minutes, he received a reply.

**I'll have someone drop it off at Baker Street. -MH**

**John POV**

The very next day, there was a bottle of nice scotch sitting on the table. At John's questioning look, Sherlock, who was on his phone, said, "Another gift from your secret admirer."

John picked up the whiskey. It was _very_ nice. As he examined the label, he noticed a little card attached to the neck of the bottle.

_To John_

_From a Secret Admirer_

This time, when John turned it over, he saw another note.

_XXX-XXX-XXXX – Text me ;)_

Baffled, John pulled out his phone and texted the number.

_Hi, it's John Watson. Who are you?_

He waited several minutes. No reply.

_I like the scotch. How did you know it's my favourite?_

He waited a few more minutes. Still, no reply. Disappointed, he slipped his phone back in his pocket.

For breakfast he made some bacon and eggs. As the smell of cooking bacon rose in the flat, John chuckled at what he began to think of as the "bacon fiasco".

"Do you want some properly cooked bacon?" John called to Sherlock.

"No, thank you. Any clue who this fan of yours is?" he replied.

"Not one." John took the bacon out of the pan and set it on a plate to cool. He picked one up and took a bite.

Sherlock looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"Yup," said John, mouth full of bacon, "Got any deductions for me?"

"No. You'll have to figure this one out on your own. I need to go to the library, I'll be back in about 30 minutes."

John was quite certain that Sherlock could figure out exactly who it was, but for some reason, didn't want to.

**Sherlock POV**

How absolutely _thick_ could John be? He couldn't believe he'd overestimated his flatmate.

Sherlock pulled out the new phone he had acquired from Mycroft and looked at what John said. He shot back a quick text.

Well, if I told you who I am, I wouldn't be a SECRET admirer, now would I?

A bit silly for Sherlock's taste, but he couldn't totally give his identity away. John was thick enough that he wouldn't notice, but Sherlock had to be careful.

Very soon, the phone buzzed.

_I suppose not._

_I don't suppose I'll meet you very soon?_

Doubtful.

_Great, I was hoping for something to look forward to. You know, I'm going through a divorce. I haven't even told my flatmate yet, but I've been doing paperwork while he's out._

Sherlock knew, but he hadn't pointed it out for sensitivity's sake.

What's your flatmate like?

_Oh, he's an arrogant arse, but I like him well enough. He's been strangely supportive recently._

Well, maybe he's trying to help you through your troubles with Mary.

_How do you know my wife's name?_

John could be perceptive at the oddest of times.

Don't you like solving mysteries?

_Well, yes…_

I've got to go.

_Bye. :)_


	4. Chapter 4: Dinner

**A/N: So, here it is! I'm sorry it took so ****long, I haven't been on my computer in forever...**

When Sherlock returned to the flat, John looked elated.

"She replied to my text!" he declared.

"Oh, really?" said Sherlock, "This secret admirer of yours? So what is _she_ like?"

John frowned. "No, not my secret admirer. I mean Sophia! She works at this nice little tea shop downtown. She's smart, pretty, and she likes her tea the exact same way I do!"

Sherlock was smart, handsome (at least, in his opinion), _and_ he drank tea like John did.

"But– But, what about your secret admirer?" Sherlock spluttered.

"She won't tell me anything about herself. It's really rather vexing."

"Aren't you the least bit interested, though?"

"A little, but I've got a date with Sophia tonight! She's real, and I know all about her." John smiled.

"Ok. Ok then." Sherlock said.

John, in all of his excitement, didn't notice Sherlock's disappointment, and left to get ready for his date.

Sentiment. A weakness. Sherlock would simply have to get over it, and he'd be all the better. No silly weaknesses.

When John came down, he was wearing his nice forest green tie and a subtle cologne that suited him quite well. It was, in fact, Sherlock's favorite tie, and he thought it looked excellent on John. He involuntarily wished John was getting all dressed up for his sake, and not some silly girl's.

He knew then that he was not, under any circumstances, going to get over John. He could not stand by and watch him get married _again_, maybe for good this time. He would have to ruin their relationship. He had to ask John one thing first.

"John, I had a thought. What would you do if your secret admirer were a man? You wouldn't want to break his heart just because he's, well, a he, would you?"

John turned vermilion. "I'm _not gay,_ Sherlock."

And he stormed out for his date.

**John POV**

At first, the date couldn't have gone better. John quickly cooled down from his anger at Sherlock to enjoy dinner at the nice restaurant with his date.

"So," he said, after they had finished their meals, "What do you say we– Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Sherlock, _please go away_."

"It's important John, now come on. We need to go to York, it's a nearly four hour drive from here. We'll need to leave now in order to get there by midnight."

Sophia stood up. "I'll come too."

"No, you won't." said Sherlock.

"Why not?" John exclaimed.

Sherlock pulled John close and whispered in his ear, "Because it's dangerous and we can't have too many people. You don't want her to get hurt, do you?"

John sighed. "You can't come, Sophia."

"What, you don't trust me?"

"This is our FIRST DATE."

"Fine." she said, and Sherlock dragged John out.

**Sherlock POV**

Excellent. He had gotten John out and even managed to get him and Sophia fighting. Now there was only one issue, and that was that he would have to go to York, or else John wouldn't speak to him for a week, maybe more.

They got into a taxi, and Sherlock gave the cab driver a random address in York. The cabbie raised his eyebrows, but put it into the GPS.

About thirty minutes in, Sherlock decided it had been long enough. He pulled out his phone and pretended to answer it.

"Sherlock Holmes.

"_What_?

"You're certain.

"Ok."

He shut off his phone.

"Er… John?"

John looked up from where he'd been dozing.

"We're, erm, no longer needed in York." to the cabbie he said, "Turn around! Take us back to London!"

John blinked a few times.

"You're kidding."

Sherlock shook his head.

"You dragged me away from a date for a case we WEREN'T EVEN NEEDED ON?" John's voice slowly escalated to a shout.

"I'm sorry, John. I'll- I'll make it up to you." Sherlock said, hanging his head.

John sat back in his seat, fuming. "You just don't understand, do you, Sherlock? You don't _get_ what it is to love someone."

"John, please, I said I'm sorry." Sherlock felt sick to his stomach.

"Well guess what, Sherlock. I'm–" John gulped, "I'm moving out."

Sherlock's jaw dropped. He was silent for several minutes, processing the information.

Finally, he spoke. "John, I think you should give yourself time to cool down, maybe think about this–"

"Just _shut up_, Sherlock." To the cabbie, he added, "Pull over."

Sherlock watched as John got out to hail a separate cab. A single tear tracked down his face.


End file.
